Finding the Right Place
by dcat8888
Summary: What, when and how to say the right thing on a certain holiday.


**Title: Finding the Right Place**

Author: dcat and Susan Zodin

This is a Hardcastle and McCormick fanfic. They are the property of Patrick Hasburgh and Stephen J. Cannell. No infringement is intended. 2-19-07

Rated: G or K

Notes: Many, many thanks to Susan Zodin who took basically a story idea and turned it into an actual story. It was like magic…..and that is why I am giving her author credit. Saying thanks does not seem like enough. She also came up with a much better title!

The young man with the head full of curly hair couldn't recall such a tumultuous time in his life ever before and quietly hoped that the roller coaster ride he'd just survived through would not be happening again too soon. But then maybe again it was a sign of things to come. When he had first arrived at Gull's Way he was lost and sort of aimless. He'd never admit it, but he needed help, a direction, someone to give him a chance. He needed a friend, a mentor, a father. His life was slipping away fast, he could feel it, and yet he felt powerless to stop it. It seemed that it was out of control, and then there was this guy, Milton C. Hardcastle, the lunatic judge who had sentenced him to San Quentin two years prior, who was now offering him a chance, a new beginning, and so much more. And Mark McCormick's life would never be the same again.

Where could he even begin? It hadn't been quite six months since his release from prison, his life was rather mundane. He was working at a auto repair shop, doing tune-ups and the like, even pumping some gas, just trying to find a 'track' he could get his life on to. He wanted to get back into racing, but not too many outfits were willing to give an ex-con a chance. Of course, he had the parole gorilla Dalem all over him and the crazy judge was breathing down his neck, poking his nose in every corner of McCormick's life, but Mark'd managed to stay on the straight and narrow. It wasn't easy, but he was doing it. He knew he didn't ever want to go back to prison, and right now his nice, quiet, law-abiding life was suiting him just fine.

Most importantly he'd kept in contact with his old friend, Flip Johnson, even in the joint, and Flip kept telling him that he had something big coming up for him. When McCormick got out of prison, there was the Coyote...a beautiful racecar that Flip had designed and built himself...and the older man was going to let Mark drive it! Things were really looking up. Even a close call with a parole meeting couldn't bring the kid's spirits down. Flip told him there was a race coming up and that he'd pull some strings for him to be able to go out of state for it. What a chance, what a time it would be—riding in that car...feeling free and happy! McCormick hoped it was the beginning of many such days of excitement—he wanted to feel like he was living again—far from prison and his past.

And then Flip was dead. Mark's world came crashing down hard. Flip's daughter Barbara didn't believe that her father's death was an accident—she suspected Martin Cody, his financial backer, of having him murdered in order to claim ownership of the Coyote racer. She asked Mark to help her "steal" it back, since she believed she had a legal right to it by inheritance of Flip's design. The more McCormick thought about it, the more it made sense. Flip had loved that car and never would have given it up to Cody for _any_ price. He had had plans for it...and for Mark—giving the parolee another chance to make his life a success. Mark couldn't refuse Barbara's plea—he had to get the car back. So he _did _...he broke into Cody's warehouse and stole the Coyote—feeling in his heart that a theft from another thief was not a crime. He felt satisfaction as he climbed into the vehicle, but his pleasure was short-lived as a police cruiser began a chase at the exit gate. Evasive maneuvers by McCormick caused the cop to crash, but Mark found out his "escape" was not permanent when he was arrested at his apartment the following morning.

And then, despite the bleak knowledge of his parole violations and the new charges, and the anger and sorrow he felt at Cody's actions, McCormick found out that the worst was yet to come. He had thought Hardcastle had retired from being a judge that week, but found out to his shock that the old donkey had one more day to work...and guess _who_ was to be his last case? Mark groaned inwardly with gloom. That's all he _needed_.The only good thing about the situation was that he had hidden the Coyote in a very secure place where neither Cody nor the cops could find it. Barbara would have her property back despite 'em all

In the courtroom, afraid of the new verdict to come and irritated by what he saw as Hardcastle's smug demeanor, the kid shot his mouth off one too many times and was taken back to the judge's chambers, where the vocal Olympics between the two of them continued. McCormick didn't know what to make of this character. He didn't seem real, but he sure had a plan and his plan included the young man. The weirdest part of the equation was the deal the judge dangled before him, something about indefinite custody, chasing after bad guys together and making restitution of the Coyote.

The whole plan sounded crazy to McCormick—especially the last part. He absolutely refused to give up the car or to give up on the idea that he'd make Martin Cody pay for killing his friend. Since the kid didn't seem to want to budge his stand on the issue, Hardcastle called in the deputy to haul him off to the county lock-up for the night. Mark paused for a split second at the door, wondering if his smart mouth had spoken too soon. Should he take the judge's offer? He just didn't understand where this crazy old man was coming from. He figured he had some sort of angle, _everyone _did, _right? _He just hadn't figured out Hardcastle's. Trust was a hard thing to find and an even harder thing to give. McCormick didn't know how to trust anyone but himself; he'd learned not to rely on claims of friendship because they often weren't true. He'd been used and abused too many times in his life to start believing in someone else's word. And then it was too late, the deputy pushed him through the door. McCormick shook his head. A chance not to go to prison was a chance not to go to prison, but Hardcastle looked like he wasn't giving him a second thought as he turned back to his desk, and so, away Mark went. Tomorrow he'd know his final fate; ultimately that would mean more time in Quentin for breaking the contract of his parole. It scared him to his core as he was escorted to the holding cell. His clothes were exchanged for jail issue. And then it was down the long hall, to be locked in.

He closed his eyes, trying to not see the gray walls and bars, he held his breath trying not to breathe in the smell, and he shut his ears to the sound of despair from the other prisoners. But his efforts at blocking his memories failed. Every one of his senses was heightened by what his mind recalled from the past.

He hated this, he hated this. The big dreams he had for his future were never gonna come true...a new life was not coming his way. Even closing his eyes and trying to sleep did not banish his feelings of hopelessness.

It was after dinner when the judge came wandering into the cooker and made him a new offer, which was just like the _old_ offer, minus the restitution for now, and a chance to go after this Martin Cody character, the _legal _way. It was now or never--could Mark cross the line of trust with this 'Hardcase'? The judge wasn't going to give him long to think about it--he told him to take it or leave it--and as Mark turned over on the metal bunk, his mind swam with all kinds of thoughts. Hardcastle's belief in McCormick's story about Flip was the deciding factor for Mark. It'd been a long time since anyone believed in anything he said. He couldn't quite understand this guy yet, but he couldn't pass up this offer again. _Anything_ beat being inside, and so the month got even stranger. Things were looking up again. Together they busted Cody and through the experience, or _because_ of it, they forged some sort of strange partnership along the way. It was sort of a friendship, sort of a mentor thing and sort of a father-son relationship all rolled into one. At least to _Mark_ it was. McCormick didn't understand it at all but he felt good about where his life was heading. How the _judge_ felt, well, the kid couldn't read his mind yet anywayheck, he might _never _understand the old coot. One thing was for sure, though, Hardcastle would never admit to any kind of a relationship whatsoever. Milton C. Hardcastle didn't go in for all the touchy, feely stuff. The kid was sure of that. The judge kept his emotions in check and out of sight. The kid however, wanted to understand, wanted to know _why_, wanted some sort of reason. He needed an answer. And the kid loved to talk and he wouldn't stop till he _got_ an answer, even if it took the rest of his life.

After the Cody case got wrapped up, the judge gave the kid a break for awhile, by telling him just to relax, and do some chores around the estate. To McCormick, these two statements seemed like a contradiction, especially after he saw the size of the grounds, and he moaned and groaned about doing his assigned

tasks, but he still _did_ them, and did them correctly, unlike the way some of the other ex-cons Hardcastle had employed before had worked. This wasn't the first rehabilitation project the judge had tried. He wanted it to be the _last_, though, not because he didn't want to help people, but because he just wanted to prove to himself that he could be a difference in someone's life. There was something about _this _kid that made Hardcastle begin to realize this might be that chance. He liked the kid, he liked the smart mouth, his sharp mind, how the kid would let him win at basketballand most of all he liked having him as a friend, and the thought that he had another chance with a son. The judge knew that was somewhat selfish, but if it was helping someone, how wrong could that _be_? Anyway, there'd be time to chase after bad guys, and Hardcastle didn't want to spook the kid right off. Letting him settle in at Gull's Way would be a good thing. McCormick was different from the others, the smart mouth was a reflex against feeling nervous and scared, and the jurist could see way beyond it. It definitely was a finely honed defense mechanism. Milt had the kid's file; he knew he had no father around and that his mother had died. He was headed straight for trouble and, in fact, had already been down the wrong road. The judge wanted to change that. He wanted McCormick to know there was more to the world than crime and despair. There was _more_ to this kid**--**he could _feel _it. He could sense Mark was still a bit baffled by the whole arrangement. Hardcastle didn't have any deep down secrets behind anything. He was just a guy who did what he wanted, when he wanted and how he wanted. He was always straight with an answer. It may not be the answer the kid wanted to hear, but the jurist put right and wrong, good and bad, justice and the American way behind whatever decision he came to. Hardcastle stood by truth, and McCormick would have to learn to respect that. What the judge didn't quite realize was that McCormick felt the same way; he just picked a different road to travel on to get to the same conclusion.

The kid had a smart mouth, an answer for everything, and while the judge acted like he hated it, in fact he enjoyed the comments and, if he ever would admit it out loud--something he'd never do**--**he welcomed the chance to engage in some verbal warfare with McCormick. To Hardcastle it meant the kid was thinking and that he was intelligent, and then there was the fact that it wasn't just that Mark was a smart aleck**--**from the stuff he said, Hardcastle could tell the kid had a _heart _too, something his previous 'projects' hadn't. It set the young man apart. The fact that McCormick had actually pulled the cop from the wreck and saved his life after stealing the Coyote was a three-pointer in Hardcastle's book. Mark _cared_. You couldn't _teach _someone that. You either had it or you didn't. Something made this kid tick the right way. Hardcastle liked that. And deep down in his own heart, he hoped beyond hope that maybe this would be the _one_,maybe his crazy idea for rehabilitation of a criminal would work, maybe he'd made a new friend, someone he could share his life with, and maybe in some strange way, he'd found another son. This was definitely something more than just a project…

They both had unhappy pasts, and this was a chance for a new future for both of them.

And so, the two different worlds collided, two strangers in dangerous times, two broken hearts, two of everything. The lull after this first case could quite possibly be the biggest test the two of them would face, since the feeling-out process was still like early season pond ice--it looked solid, but if you actually went out and stood on it, it'd crack. Downtime could be a killer, and someone could drown.

McCormick never had a real regular male role model. There had been Flip, but theirs was more of a working peer relationship, rather than a best buddy friendship. This thing with Hardcastle was something new. Nothing really added up or made much sense, but his month had already been set on its ear from what he expected, and somewhere deep down inside himself something was telling him that maybe this was actually the something 'big' that Flip had talked about. Funny, he'd always thought success in life was being a racer, and he knew that he and Flip would have taken that path if they'd shared a future. The Coyote was the only part of that dream he still had now. It was absolutely something big in and of itself, and he was amazed that it actually belonged to him, but it was only a _thing_. Mark craved _more_, and he wouldn't admit it out loud**--** just yet, anyway--but the relationship, this friendship he was creating with Hardcastle, _this _was what he longed for.

He'd been shocked to say the least with the drive up to Gull's Way with the judge that first night. It was not at all what he had expected. At best, he hoped he'd be sleeping in a pull out sofa-bed in the middle of an old man's sloppy two room apartment, but the seven-acre topiary paradise was beyond anything he could dream up. And when he heard the judge tell Sarah to take him to the gatehouse, his first thought was that Hardcastle was locking him up in some sort of quasi-jail, but the housekeeper's reaction immediately gave him a different idea. As he walked in behind her from the main house to his new digs, his eyes widened, and he tried to keep his comments in check, because he was amazed by what lay in front of him. It was actually a _house_, his _alone_, for now anyway, with a living area, a kitchen area and his own bedroom and bathroom. Hardcastle was some sort of puzzle that was for sure. He was trusting an ex-con in this residence. Mark quickly followed Sarah as she removed the coverings from the furniture and assured her he would turn down his own bed, his _own _bed--that happy thought stuck in his head for just a second longer than his words hung in the air. _His own bed._ A few minutes ago, Hardcastle had given him a quick reminder not to run, which he hadn't planned on doing anyway, but after seeing all this, the decision redoubled itself. This was going to be his new home—and he sure wanted to keep it.

Mark politely thanked Sarah, wished her a good night and watched her go. If he hadn't been so tired, he might have spent more time soaking in these new surroundings, but the bed---with clean sheets, yet!--called out to him, and he practically fell asleep before his curly head hit the pillow.

And now that the Cody case was over, he was again back at Gull's Way, in the Gatehouse, in his own bed and it felt better than it ever had, even that first night. _Then_, it was really a temporary thing. Who knew how things would go? Hardcastle could pull his ticket anytime he wanted and put him back inside for any reason. But that didn't happen. The judge didn't treat him like an ex-con, he treated him like a _man_. He continued to believe in him, just like he had that night in the city jail. And now, well, now Mark felt like it was home, and he'd do his darnedest not to mess this up. Mark McCormick wanted to stay.

It wasn't smooth sailing though. They clashed, quarreled, disagreed, bickered and stood their own stubborn ground, and yet something amazing was happening to the two of them--it was the blossoming of respect, respect for each other, even through the arguments. McCormick realized he could learn a lot from the older man, and Hardcastle realized he could teach. That was something they both needed to do. And best of all, something neither of them would realize or admit to this early on, they'd each met their best friend.

Mark McCormick wasn't shy about much, except when it came to this relationship, well, not the _relationship_ but about telling the judge how he felt about this chance he'd given to him. By now he knew the judge wasn't the type of man to get mushy, and yet he'd said things to Mark that let him know that he cared, that he expected much from him, and that he'd always be there for the kid. McCormick had to listen hard to pick up on it at first, but before long, he knew when he'd get some sort of favorable comment from the judge. Simple things like, "You should put a sweatshirt on, it's cold out tonight," or "Go fix yourself some hot breakfast in the kitchen, you can't eat cereal every day," or "Be careful when you're using those gas-powered hedge trimmers"... and the ever popular, "Where the heck _were _you all night long?" Those were things people said when they cared about you and about your well being, and Mark hadn't heard them since his Mother had passed away. When they came out of the judge's mouth, McCormick's heart swelled with appreciation. He wanted to return the care and the concern. He just hadn't figured out _how_.

And Hardcastle's generosity was beyond compare as well. He'd send McCormick to the store for some steaks, or to pick up some fast food, and he always insisted on giving him money for the purchase, even if Mark offered to treat. So off McCormick would go, and when he returned to the house, he'd make it a point to bring Milt the change, just to show the judge that he wouldn't think of stealing from him. Hardcastle always told him to keep it for himself. Mark appreciated both the kindness of being able to have extra spending money as well as knowing that Hardcastle trusted him.

Most importantly to Mark, Hardcastle loved to talk law. He told some great stories about being both a police officer and a Judge. Many of the discussions the two of them got into over cases went long into the night. McCormick asked a lot of questions and the judge never laughed at him, nor did he ever refuse to explain something that the kid didn't fully understand. Mark never thought he had an interest in the law, but every day he looked forward to these talks more and more. He soaked in as much as he could without being too much of a pest. Little did he know or realize back then, that Hardcastle loved the discussions just as much.

The days turned into weeks and then into months.

It was an unlikely time for a holiday to hit. But here it was coming up, and it was making McCormick crazy. He hadn't given this one much thought ever, and yet now it seemed to shout out at him and demand his attention. And the one person he wished he could talk to about it, Hardcastle, well, the holiday was _for_ him, in a sense—'Father's Day' -- so _that_ discussion was out of the question. He knew Hardcastle would think it was stupid, unnecessary, or sappy, and he'd want no part of it.

That left Mark feeling more than a little dejected. Hardcastle was just so different. A one of a kind guy and he wouldn't want any sort of fuss being made over what he'd done for McCormick. The young man was caught between a rock and a hard place.

Mark had heard the judge talk only rarely about his wife Nancy and had seen her picture on the judge's desk, but Hardcastle wasn't interested in discussing his past family life in any sort of depth with McCormick. Not yet anyway. That was personal information, and Mark was trying hard to respect that. The young man didn't even feel comfortable talking with Sarah about it. She was fiercely protective of the judge and was as secretive about his private past as he was. Still, McCormick felt the need to let the judge know just how much he appreciated these past months, and this holiday would be a perfect time to do that.

He tossed around the idea of a card, or a present, or maybe taking the judge out to dinner or to a Lakers' game, but none of it felt completely 'right', and then he'd start thinking of the reaction that Hardcastle would have to any of those things and he'd scrap the whole idea. If he did the card and the present, Hardcastle would be embarrassed; the game or dinner meant Hardcastle would pick up the tab. It was a no-win situation.

Maybe he should just let the day pass and just let the judge do whatever he wanted. Heck, he wasn't _his _father anyway. But he was _like_ a father in every important way to him. It was driving Mark nuts.

And then Joe Cadillac had breezed into their lives during another case, and McCormick found out by accident in one of the mobster's remarks, that Hardcastle had had a son who died in Vietnam. Hardcastle told Mark later that he wasn't a replacement--still McCormick sort of wondered. The way the judge treated him, believing him on that first night in the county lock-up, paying for everything, giving him a stipend, setting

him up with a great place to live, giving him another chance to make something with his life Sure, the kid was putting his life on the line _too_, but Hardcastle was generous beyond compare. That was something a _father_ would do.

It was Father's Day Eve. They'd given Sarah the night off and the two men were 'bacheing' it, with pizza and beer and a full slate of John Wayne movies on TV. McCormick settled in on the leather sofa, complete with an afghan, while Hardcastle settled, predictably, for his usual chair, which by now had the judge's contours well shaped out. Snacks were scattered about the room--as the two of them had already worked their way through _Rio Bravo, The Green Berets _and _Fort Apache._ Not unnoticed by the judge, McCormick also had brought with him a spiral notebook, several pencils, and an eraser, along with several books. Hardcastle couldn't tell the titles of them from where he sat. He figured the kid had grabbed them off the library shelves, and he didn't want to discourage Mark from reading and learning more. So even though he noticed the kid's activities and wondered what he was up to, he decided he wouldn't ask questions unless McCormick said something.

About the time _The Quiet Man_ started, McCormick had a book splayed open in his lap as he furiously wrote on the notebook page. He knew Hardcastle had to be wondering what literary project would hold his attention so deeply, and was prepared to give him the standard, "I'm taking a class at the community college," line, an explanation he'd used about a billion times over the span of his adult life. But Milt never asked, so Mark kept on writing, while keeping the other eye on the movie and jabbering and baiting from time to time with Hardcastle.

"You know Hardcase, you should join JWA, he teased as Maureen O' Hara walked into the room on the TV screen and was about to say something to John Wayne.

"_What_?" Hardcastle groused, "What the hell is 'JWA'?"

"John Wayne Anonymous...you know, like AA," McCormick grinned, "but for film addicts like you. I mean, Judge, you don't want to let this get too out of control. You don't want to admit it, but you do have a serious problem here. You've seen all these shows at least a hundred times each."

"Shut up, McCormick and watch the movie," Hardcastle said, turning his attention back to Maureen O'Hara.

About an hour later, McCormick started to give out. It was going on 1am and the film wasn't exactly a _guy_ movie, even if it starred the Duke. Mark's eyes were getting heavy, and he soon was sleeping soundly. His hand clutched the notebook to his chest, face down, but one of the books had fallen to the floor with a thud. Hardcastle was just about to make a nasty comment at its possible damage, but when he saw the kid was asleep, he picked it up quietly and saw that it was a dictionary. He closed it and set it back on the table. What did the kid need a _dictionary _for? The judge watched the kid sleep for a few seconds and thought about what he should do. He was just about ready to shag the kid awake and send him off to the gatehouse, but the kid was out cold, snoring softly and snuggled warmly underneath the afghan that Nancy had knit so many years ago. He didn't have the heart to wake him up from the restful sleep he was in, so he decided he'd let him crash right where he was. Hardcastle trusted the kid to spend the night in the main house—it was now his home as much as Milt's. He was gonna lift off the notebook to tuck Mark in more securely, but just as he went to grab it, McCormick shifted on the couch and it fell on the floor. As he picked it up, Hardcastle fought the urge to read it; something in his conscience prevented him from doing it. Heck, the kid was entitled to _some_ privacy. Instead, he just placed it face down on top of the dictionary. He then pulled the afghan up over Mark's shoulders, turned off the TV and the lights, and headed off to bed himself.

The next morning when Hardcastle went into the den, McCormick, the notebook, and the books were all gone, back to the gatehouse presumably. Neither one brought up the subject of the notebook or its contents again.

Father's Day came and went that year without fanfare, and neither man even brought it up. They spent the day together watching the Dodgers play on TV, and Sarah made them a nice dinner. Sitting across from the older man as they ate, Mark smiled to himself. Even though he had wanted to do "something big" to show his appreciation of the gifts and opportunities the judge had given him, maybe it was sharing the little, everyday things that let Hardcastle know the kid's true feelings.

Now it was coming up on three years later. Mark was in law school, thanks again in a large part to Milt, who had given both his financial support _and _emotional support. Mark was in-between the spring semester and the first summer school session and was cleaning up some things in the gatehouse when he pulled out the notebook from years before. He plopped down in a nearby chair and, starting to turn the pages to see what it contained, came to a dead stop when he read what he had written three years earlier. He re-read it several times, then he got up and took it over to the dining room table. Sitting down, he turned the page to a blank one in the book, picked up a pen, and began to write.

_6/86_

_Dear Judge,_

_I started writing this three years ago, just a few months after I came to live here. I put it aside, out of a fear that it was something you wouldn't want to hear. And maybe that's the truth still, but as every year passes, I dig it out about this time and think about what it says. And now I know that I can't let it just go by another year, because even though you might not want to hear it, I need to say it to you. There's not much more to add to what I originally wrote that first night because I feel the same way, it's just deeper with each passing day. Just read it and believe that I really mean it. _

_Mark_

_6/84 _

_Tomorrow is Father's Day and I don't ever remember giving any thought to this day before, other than that it was a day in June. Someone once said that you don't miss things you never had, and since I don't remember much about my own father, I guess up until this point in my life, you could say that statement was indeed true._

_Now I have a Father. And a mentor and a best friend, all rolled into one. I want to tell you how much you mean to me and how thankful I am for what you've done for me. My life is different now, it's been different since the night you came to the jail and believed in what I had told you. That had never happened to me before._

_I didn't know what I was getting myself into, agreeing to your 'proposal.'_ _But, that night, at that moment, I did something I hadn't done since my mother died. _

_I trusted someone other than myself._

_Judge, you became my Father right then and there, whether you realized it or not, whether you wanted to be one or not. Sometimes I didn't want one, or need one sometimes I needed a friend, sometimes a Judge__sometimes I needed to be left alone, sometimes I needed someone to nag at mesometimes I just needed someone to care about me. You do it all, Judge. _

_I need to explain to you about my life, and I'm not sure how I can do that except maybe in a story._

_A man began to walk. The road was not at all unusual. The path was sometimes straight, sometimes narrow, sometimes treacherous, sometimes it seemed to go in circles. Some days there would be warm, sun-filled cloudless periods with gentle winds, and nights full of stars. Other times it would storm, winds would violently blow and clouds would block out every spot of the sky. No two days would be alike, each was unique in its own way. But there was no purpose to the walk. Signs along the way pointed him in various directions, as did passerby's, but something was missing. The man could easily choose to follow the wrong sign or take a path other than his intended one, and so he often times went the wrong way. Other people's paths could also be seen nearby. Some looked harder, some easier; some went off in completely different directions, while some ran parallel to the path the man walked. Yet, each was different. He came to the understanding that he had to walk his walk alone, knowing that some days would bring sunshine, other days rain_; _and that sometimes he'd have easy paths, other times perilous steps when he would fall. And on one of those days, as he tumbled off the road, and fell to the bottom of a hill, he wanted to give up, he didn't want to walk any longer. He wanted to just lie there and forget everything. As he sat in the musty earth, he felt himself being lifted, and set back upright on his feet, and he swore he saw someone point him toward a new road. As he took the first steps, it seemed that the breeze pushed him forward. The new path was very much the same as the old one, containing scenes of clear days and easy traveling alternating with stormy weather and precipitous footing, only now, he knew he was not alone. When he fell, a hand would be there to pick him up and he'd feel the gentle push from behind urging him to continue on; when he was thirsty or hungry, someone along the way would offer him nourishment; and even during the darkest night or the wildest storm, he knew that the sun would always return. His journey was not easier, but it was better for having learned that he did not have to walk it alone._

_Judge, you once said to me that I was not a replacement for your son. I knew that then, before you even said it, and I still know it now. I know that a bond between a father and a son is something that can never be replaced. But I believe I have my own spot in your heart, a heart which I might add, is huge beyond compare. You may not think of me as your son, and that's okay with me, love is love and I know you love me. But I wanted you to know that I wish you a Happy Father's Day, this year and always, because you have become my Father, and I love you_.

_Happy Father's Day, today and every day._

_Love, _

_Mark_

McCormick took a deep breath and read the words over and over. When it was dark and he knew Hardcastle would be in bed fast asleep, he walked over to the main house and placed the handwritten pages on the kitchen table. Milt would be sure to see them first thing in the morning.

He went back to the Gatehouse and fell peacefully to sleep.

The next morning he woke up late and headed outside to get started on cleaning the pool, something he'd been putting off for too many days. He got together his supplies and started in on the project. Nearly an hour into the work, he'd all but forgotten about the letter he'd left for Hardcastle. He was happily humming as he worked and was surprised when he noticed the judge was standing down near the opposite end of the pool, still wearing his morning bathrobe.

"Morning, Judge," he said, giving him a smile.

"The Dodgers are playing the Giants this afternoon, you want to head into town and see if we can get a couple of seats?" Milt asked.

"Sure, that'd be great," Mark answered, as he went back to his cleaning.

Hardcastle stood there for a few more seconds, until McCormick realized he was being watched intently.

"Is there a problem, Judge?" he asked.

"Nah, nothing" The older man paused, then continued, "Don't you want some breakfast today?"

"I'm good, I had some cereal," McCormick explained.

"'_Cereal'_? You can't live on that, it's like bird food. Why don't you come inside and I'll fix you up some Eggs Milton?"

"Really Judge, I'm fine, but thanks" Mark gave him another grin.

Hardcastle scowled and started to turn around and head back inside. This time Mark watched him. He knew he'd read the letter. Milt must have sensed him staring, and he turned back around. "That was a helluva letter, kiddo, really nice. I just wanted you to know that. I really appreciate what you had to say."

Mark gave him a smile and before he could reply with a 'you're welcome', Hardcastle had disappeared inside the house. It didn't matter, Milt knew and that's what counted. "_Thank you, Judge and Happy Father's Day," _he said under his breath, and he went back to cleaning the pool.


End file.
